


tell us a story (i know you're not boring)

by tired_noiz



Category: Original Work
Genre: Kinda, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tired_noiz/pseuds/tired_noiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an autobiography of some sorts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. G.

Somehow, we became friends. It was an unlikely friendship - neither of us shared interests really, nor knew much about each other. I suppose that's why we got along so well, we weren't personal, we just made a bunch of dumb jokes mostly. Upon spending several months with her, I found myself in a tight position; she had a friend that I had issues with and they had issues with me too. I stopped hanging around with them at this point, thinking to myself that I'm not that important, I shouldn't split this friendship up, I probably don't mean that much to them anyway. Whilst I still feel somewhat guilty, I wouldn't go back and change what happened. Because I guess she means the world to me, even though some days she's a massive dick and I question why I put up with it - though it's better than hearing half-assed compliments that people don't even mean. However, sometimes I do wonder if she means the insults she says, if she really thinks that about me.

Besides my self-doubting, she does have other qualities. She's fantastic at art, often making me envious when she can draw these great characters and I struggle drawing a straight line. I remember a time where I practically broke down on her, maybe three times actually - I felt incredibly apologetic, despite all the times she said it was okay. I should've kept quiet about it, but what's done is done. It's more a case of I appreciate her being there, even if it's just her standing there, or rambling about something. A sense of companionship, I s'pose, making me feel at ease. It's like I'm no longer alone and I want to tell her that, that I really appreciate her. But I can't get it out without sounding like a clingy child not wanting to leave their parents. Funnily enough, that's probably how I come off to her and everyone. 

She's the kind of friend you want to stay with your whole life. Someone like her isn't easy to find, someone that means as much. In a way, that kinda scares me, y'know? I don't think I've ever put so much trust in someone like this for years. It's the dream friendship I wish I'd had as a kid, the friend I depend on now and the friend it would kill me to lose. Not that I'd ever tell her that - gotta fully commit to being an asshole. But that might push her away - one of my new largest fears. 

Normally, I'd stop getting so close, in fear of getting hurt; I can't. I can't leave her, for some reason, I cannot draw myself away. And in a way, that kills me more, since I don't know why I'm so attached to her. One of our friends pressure us to date, but I'd never. Dating ruins friendship more often than not and this friendship is one I'd treasure more than the grand jewels. That sounds so sappy aloud, although it's the truth. Undoubtedly, I couldn't ever repay her for what she's done for me, though I don't think she realises what she has done or would deny it.

Goddamnit. I'm stuck again, praying I'm not left behind. What a bittersweet feeling.

I don't want you to leave, but I can't force you to stay. That's selfish of me, but as you keep reminding me, we've only got 21 months left and you're planning on leaving. All I want to do is curl up and cry, whilst simultaneously brooding over everything else. Though I guess I should be used to it by now, right? A bitter laugh just escaped me. Of course I should.


	2. G pt.2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a summary of emotions I could never tell you

I'm tired. I can't sleep and I don't know why. My brain won't shut off, as usual. I suppose I half know why - I'm brooding over things people have said. Brooding over suicide. Wondering if I really should do it. I've lost count the amount of times I've tried and obviously failed. Whether it be panicking, or someone convincing me out of it or it just failing. Nothing along the lines of overdose, more asphyxiation, so I can do it silently and if I fail it isn't going to cause any drama.

I've been clean for a few months, in terms of physical scars. Of course I still scratch up my arms and my hands, but eh. It's hypocritical for me to think about it really. I'm always telling others not to do it ("it's not worth it, you're important") yet when it comes to myself, it's no longer true.

When I think about it, I truly am worthless in this world. I mean, what really is the point? Would it matter if I'm lying dead on a pavement somewhere, or lying in a ditch? No. No it wouldn't. Because in the end, what do I mean to anyone? I'm easily replaceable. Though it'd just be another way for my cousin to be attention seeking. Sharing things about how much it affects her, when it isn't any of her business. She didn't know how it felt to see my father lying dead in front of me. The cruel part is, he just looked so peaceful, as if he was just sleeping. She didn't have to see that. She didn't have to feel that. She doesn't know how it feels. I'm not saying I want her to. God no, no one deserves to be put through this pain. That probably sounds all high and mighty, like my problems are the worst in the world - of course they're not, but losing your father at the young age of 13 whilst dealing with anxiety and most likely some form of depression isn't easy.

I guess that's part of the reason I should just give up. The world isn't being fair and my luck is rock bottom. All I want is a hug. Just a plain and simple hug and maybe a reassurance, saying "I need you" or "you're important to me". Simple things I'm afraid to ask for.

You already expressed that you've never felt loss or heartbreak, so how can I expect you to comfort me with those things? I can't. It's selfish of me to think that. Though there are days where I just want to feel loved. I just want to feel like maybe I'm important to you. It's stupid really.

I don't know why I feel such an ache recently. It's most likely to do with my current situation and the stress of going back to school - less sleep, more responsibility. What if I don't want to accept that responsibility? What if I just want to lie in bed all day, not because I'm lazy, but because I simply can't find any reason to continue? Is this a depression, or something else? Why am I feeling so run down and achy, so disheartened and almost dead? No one sees it really, from what I know. It's easy enough to fake a smile. Although you said you noticed that fake smile today. I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment when I heard you say that. I thought you had caught on - I really hope you haven't. It'd kill me to think you knew about this, how weak I really am. In a way, I guess that's why I invite you out so much, you're the one person who I don't feel so exhausted around, it doesn't take much effort to talk to you. And if it ever bugs you, or if I'm secretly annoying you, I sincerely apologise.

This was meant to be a chapter about our friendship, but it's turned into self-pitying. Let me tell you just one thing though; without you, I'd be dead right now. After my father passed, I spent time with a group that made me feel even worse. Sure they'd be there sometimes, although they were never really much help. I guess you brought me out a funk and for that, I have to thank you.

In a sappy way, I could never live without you as a friend. You make me smile, laugh, even when I'm on the verge of tears - something no one has ever been able to do. 

However, I doubt you ever realize this or notice, so it's useless thanking you, no matter how much I want to. 

Maybe you do notice and I'm too oblivious to the signs.

 _I could never tell you any of this, of course_. 

But still, you burrow your way in - or do I just open the door? Who knows anymore. 

I'm sorry.

But there are still things you don't know - and I'd like to keep it that way. 


	3. S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> s stands for sorry.

sorry, how you've been a dear old friend to me.   
sorry, you were the word i said the most;   
the word that i uttered in times of despair;   
the word that slipped in times of sadness;   
the word that cracked the silence in times of pain.   
sorry, how you accompanied my sentence   
like a companion that always belonged.   
sorry, how you were sectioned out-  
people told you to leave but   
i'd never let you go.   
sorry, you were the only one   
that never changed -   
you were always there for me.    
sorry, you didn't vary   
like love, or happy, or angry-  
i always felt you.   
sorry, i cried and said your name;   
sorry, i laughed and said your name;   
sorry, i screamed  
and shrieked  
and shouted your name.   
sorry, has there ever been a time,   
where you have not fell from my lips? 

When I was younger,   
I was constantly apologizing.   
Whether it be for things I did wrong,   
for things I didn't do,   
or just in general,   
the word sorry was always there.   
Isn't that a little bit pitiable? 

sorry to the friend,   
who has been through more,   
yet still listens to my pathetic problems.   
sorry to the friend,   
who must look at me and think:   
 _"really? you're complaining about what you've been through?"._  
sorry to the friend,   
who had to sit there and listen   
to my self-pitying and depreciation,   
sorry to the teacher   
who had to hear me criticize myself   
as she asked what was wrong,   
sorry to all of those who ask  
how I'm doing but don't want   
the self-hatred yet get it anyway.

sorry to my past  
and my future self  
for becoming a disappointment,  
that no one ever wanted  
that no one ever needed  
but that everyone got stuck with.  
sorry to my parents  
both alive and dead  
who watch down on me  
with slight annoyance,  
and slight concern,  
at where their "normal" child  
will end up with their "normal" life.

 


	4. talking to myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remember i loved you as long as i could

God, I hate myself. 

Now, that can be taken as either a statement to myself, or me talking to God - if there is such a being out there, of course.

So here we go.

Dear God, I want to die. Isn't that a simple enough request for you? I'm not asking for much; I'm not asking for you to cure world hunger, or end racism. I'm just asking you to end my life. 

Why? Because I'm too weak to do it on my own. I've tried - God, I've tried so many damn times to end my life. Is it you stopping it, or me? Why am I even asking?

Is this how sad it's gotten? I'm here, writing something that no one will ever read, for someone that I don't even believe exists. Is that how desperate  _I've_ gotten? Of course it is. As each second goes by, I cling onto any form of communication I can get. And if I can't...

Well, that's fairly obvious, isn't it? 

Every so often I realise how little my presence is in the world. I am but a speck of dust in the universe, easily crushed by mortal thoughts, let alone physical pressure. Now, I don't mean to say my life is hard, nor that I have the worst life out there. 

But if I'm not saying my life is shitty, then what am I saying? Perhaps it is my own fault that I'm so unimportant; I haven't exactly tried to make myself memorable. In fact, I've done the opposite. 

I suppose the only impression I want to make is the sight of my dead body hanging. If I had a noose and somewhere to swing it, I'd kill myself right now. And that's the terrifying thing: there's nothing stopping me. Of course, I'd consider my friends, my family. But not for long. It wouldn't be enough to stop me. 

And it'll break their hearts if they ever read that. Yet here I am, saying it. 

I'm sorry. That's all I can say on the matter. I can't take it back, and I can't say it's not true. 

Believe me, I wish I could say I didn't feel this way. I wish I could be the perfect child, and achieve that perfect life that my parents wanted for me. Yet the only parent I have left just acts like I'm a constant bother.

I guess that's really all I am. A bother. White noise everyone wants to drone out. 

If I could, I'd grant that wish. I'd kill myself. 

God, won't you kill me? 


End file.
